


Until You Can't

by hostagesfic



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Crying, Dry Orgasm, M/M, Overstimulation, Prostate Massage, Vibrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 10:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/pseuds/hostagesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Was thinking,” Louis says, looking down at him proudly, hands spread on Harry’s pecs, thumbs slotting like they’re meant to into the spaces of his rib cage on the curve of his muscles, fingers spreading out across the birds on his collarbones. “This time might try something a bit different, if you’re up for it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until You Can't

**Author's Note:**

> We only ever write really kinky shit for this pairing. [This is a prostate massage.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prostate_massage)

“Remember that time I made you come like, three times in a night?” Louis asks casually. 

Harry’s head snaps up from where he’s digging through their suitcases for clean pants. “What?” he asks. Louis is still focused on the telly, where he’s clicking through channels, never settling on one for too long. He glances over briefly, half a smile directed at Harry before he looks back at the screen. Harry shudders, dropping the towel he’d been running through his hair and stepping over to the bed, shoving Louis over and straddling him. He’s still drippy, and Louis huffs, blusters at water hitting his face and tee-shirt with Harry’s movements, but he’s smiling for real now, large and brilliant. Smug. “Yeah, I remember,” Harry says, finding Louis’ wrists and pushing them into the mattress above his head, grinning back. “Why?”

“Wanna do it again,” Louis says, tips his chin back so that they can watch each other better. His eyes are bright, even if his face is pale with tiredness. Half of Harry wants to climb off him and tuck them both into bed, but half is already curious, already wound up from another day of watching Louis hang off the other boys and sending him heated looks from across busy backstage rooms. With Louis, it’s a sure bet which half will always, always win.

Louis cocks an eyebrow at him, lips settling into a careful line, obviously trying his best not to laugh. Harry can only nod, though, “Again, yeah,” and in the blink of an eye he’s the one pinned to the mattress beneath Louis, breathless and eager.

“Was thinking,” Louis says, looking down at him proudly, hands spread on Harry’s pecs, thumbs slotting like they’re meant to into the spaces of his rib cage on the curve of his muscles, fingers spreading out across the birds on his collarbones. “This time might try something a bit different, if you’re up for it.”

Harry can’t quite catch his breath, and he has no delusions of doing so any time soon, with the way Louis is looking at him, the way there’s weighty purpose in everything he says. “Have you been googling things again?” he asks, and although it’s meant to be teasing, his voice is a bit too squeaky yet to sound anything but eager.

Louis rubs at his chest, moving his hands so he can run his thumbs in circles around Harry’s nipples, palming at his pecs lightly. “Maybe,” he nods. “I want to tie you up.”

“Yes,” Harry agrees straight away. Louis laughs, light and pretty, and Harry can feel himself flush. It’s been a long time since he felt embarrassed around Louis, though- it’s probably got to do with the way his hands fit over Harry’s chest, the way his fingertips ghost over his nipples.

Clicking his tongue, Louis shakes his head, pinches at Harry’s right nipple. “Didn’t let me finish,” he says, even though he’d clearly paused to hear Harry’s reaction. 

Nodding, Harry bites his lip, goes entirely still and quiet, even though he feels like he might buzz out of his skin.

Louis smiles at him, approving, and runs his hands down his chest to his sides, back up to his neck, squeezing lightly before moving into his hair, playing with the loose, floppy bits left after his latest cut. “Want to tie your hands above your head,” he says, like he’s thought about this in detail, “so you can’t touch, keep them up at the headboard- I’d leave your legs alone if you think you could be good. I think you could.”

“I could,” Harry nods, nuzzling into Louis’ hand in his hair. He’s impatient, even though the build-up is just as good as the sex- Louis loves getting him wound up tight, bringing him to the edge before he’s even touched Harry below the belt.

Louis licks his lips, closes his eyes for a second, focusing. “And I want- I want to fuck you. But with one of your vibrators.”

Shuddering, Harry grins and nods. “Uh huh,” he hums, a little delayed, a little fuzzy at the edges already.

Louis looks down at him. “But you can’t- I want. Like. There’s this thing.”

“Anything,” Harry mumbles, eyes wide. “Yes, Lou.”

“ _Listen_ ,” Louis tells him, softly, cradling his head, leaning in so they’re nearly close enough to kiss. He presses their foreheads together until Harry’s eyes cross trying to keep looking at him, and then pulls back. “I saw, online, like. It’s hard to explain, but the- the top, um.” He rolls his eyes, a sudden break back to the Louis that was goofing around with Liam in catering just earlier. “You can do it with fingers or, or a vibe, but it’s more intense with a vibe, so I think it’d be easier? To stimulate your,” he shrugs, apparently giving up on being casual, “prostate. Making you come but not? I don’t know.”

Harry’s back to himself, clear-headed in the face of Louis’ seriousness, his carefully masked worry. Louis worries too much. “Come but not orgasm, you mean,” he tries.

“Yes,” Louis sighs, relieved. “That. I should’ve known you’d know.”

“Sort of,” Harry grins, shakes his head a little in disbelief. “That’s- very kinky, Lou,” he says, sneaking a hand up to poke at Louis’ ribs.

Louis laughs, a little self-consciously, squirming on Harry’s waist. “Yeah, maybe,” he admits. “S’at a problem, Harold?”

Harry doesn’t keep the slight upper hand for long- he’d much rather let Louis tease him than the other way around. “We can give it a go,” he decides, doesn’t bother trying to hide a giddy smile.

“Good,” Louis grins, shoving his arse back as he leans forward again, this time making good on the opportunity to kiss Harry strongly. He isn’t rough but he’s definitely in charge, nipping at Harry’s lips when he tries to suck Louis’ tongue into his mouth, moving back to kiss the tip of Harry’s nose. “I wanna see how much I can get out of you,” he admits, eyes dark and nearly solemn. 

“I’ll do my best,” Harry promises, sincere and back to the wide-eyed, eager look he’d been giving Louis a minute ago. He reaches for Louis’ hips, figures he might as well take advantage of his freedom to touch while it lasts.

Louis rolls his hips down against Harry’s, tangles his hands in Harry’s loose, tired curls and presses their mouths together again. He’s softer this time but just as insistent, and when they’re both breathless, when Harry can’t keep from hitching his own hips upward, he draws back, sliding onto the mattress beside him, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “Right,” he says. Harry rolls onto his side, smiling helplessly at how rough his voice sounds. Louis pokes him in the side. “Go get the lube and vibrator, Harry.”

“Yes, Lou,” Harry nods and scrambles off the bed, nearly trips on the towel forgotten on the floor but somehow finds his footing. Dropping to his knees in front of his suitcase, he digs at the bottom for the plain blue cosmetics bag where he keeps his vibrator, unzips it quickly to check for the travel sized bottle of lube he’s sure he left there. Satisfied, he stumbles his way back to the bed, clumsy in his eagerness. “Here, it’s. Here.”

Louis’ been busy, quickly shucking out of his flannel pajama bottoms and floppy tank top, clicking off the tv, and he helps Harry climb back onto the mattress, catching him around the waist for a quick kiss before they topple over together. Harry giggles into his neck, hot and damp, and Louis closes his eyes again, inhales deeply before sitting up, shoving at Harry’s chest. “Let me-” he starts, and paces himself as he slides off the bed. It’s hard not to run to the bathroom, sprint back, but somehow he keeps himself to a steady walk, and when he gets back with the terrycloth belt of the complimentary bathrobes, it’s worth it for the impatience on Harry’s face. “Lay back, like,” he says. “Diagonal, so it’ll reach the post.” The hotel headboard is cheap, no good spindles or cut-outs in the middle so the only option is the corner post, and Louis indicates it apologetically, helps shove pillows out of the way so Harry can spread out as needed.

“Not like I’d fit on the bed any other way,” Harry mutters. It’s his personal struggle, the way it’s getting increasingly impossible to fit on tiny hotel beds without folding his legs up, curled onto his side. He fits well enough like this, his head on a pillow and his legs pointed at the opposite corner of the bed, spread carelessly.

Louis hovers beside his head to tie one end of the belt around his wrists, pulling the knot snug, and then looping the other end around the bedpost, tugging it to keep Harry’s arms stretched up, knotting it carefully. “Good?” he checks, watching Harry’s face as he tests the restraint.

“Good,” Harry confirms, hands in loose fists around the belt. He spreads his legs more, shifts his hips up subconsciously, already hard and even more so at the way he can’t do anything about it, depends on whatever Louis might decide to give him. “Please,” he exhales, begging although Louis hasn’t exactly offered him anything yet.

Louis pats his shoulder twice, firmly, and scoots down the bed, dragging Harry’s left leg open wider to give himself room to sit on his knees between Harry’s knees. He blatantly watches Harry’s prick fill out as he squeezes out a good amount of lube into his palm and slicks up two fingers. Licking his lips, he looks up at Harry as he wipes his sticky hand off in the sheets and presses a pillow under the small of Harry’s back, forcing his hips up as he gets Harry settled. “‘d you get y’self off in the shower this morning?”

Although Harry isn’t sure exactly what Louis wants to hear, he shakes his head. “I haven’t since- when you, uh, three days ago?”

Louis grins brilliantly at that, his fingertips edging down the crack of Harry’s arse now, teasing just around his hole. “Yeah? Been waiting for me?”

“Like it best with you,” Harry nods, tries to shift his hips down into Louis’ touch futilely.

“Good,” Louis says, “I’m glad, I wanted- the video, like. The guy came for _ever_ , and I just knew you’d be prettier.” He nudges the first fingertip, his pointer, barely inside, twisting his hand until he’s just at the first knuckle. “You’re gonna come so much for me, yeah?”

Harry’s mouth falls open but he’s quiet, eyelids drooping. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing, and for once he almost wants the vibrator more than Louis’ fingers. When Louis presses up, though, it’s a reminder that there’s absolutely nothing better, except maybe Louis’ cock.

“Earth to Styles,” Louis singsongs, leans slightly to the side to drop a kiss on Harry’s knee. “You with me, kitten?”

“You’ve really good fingers,” Harry explains just as Louis slides his index all the way in. “Really,” he groans and plants his feet firmly on the bed, lifts his arse off the mattress so that maybe he can-

“None of that,” Louis admonishes, drawing his finger out until just the tip is inside, again. “You said you could be good and keep your legs still, Haz, c’mon.”

Harry whines needily, but he knows Louis is right. He pouts but stretches his legs out, knees still a little bent to give Louis access. “M’legs’re still,” he huffs, and it turns into a moan when Louis pushes two fingers in this time.

“Been a while since we used your vibe, hasn’t it?” Louis asks, not waiting for an answer. He’s keeping his fingers away from Harry’s prostate, like he’s prepping him for a fuck instead of- of what he said he wanted to do, but Harry isn’t about to question him. “You always look so pretty when we do, Haz.”

“Pretty,” Harry echoes, grinning at the ceiling, because he loves when Louis uses all these adjectives to describe him; Harry’s never been one for gender divisions when it comes to compliments, and hearing Louis call him _lovely_ or _beautiful_ is just about the best thing he can think of. 

“Sorry,” Louis mutters, “I know it’s taking a bit, just wanna make sure you’re okay.” 

“A true gentleman,” Harry sighs as wistfully as he can manage with his stomach all tensed up and his thighs almost trembling with exertion. He isn’t quite there yet. “C‘mon, Lou, wan’it.”

Louis nods and picks up the vibe, two fingers still scissoring slightly, twisting so close but not _quite_ at Harry’s prostate. “Charged up before we left, yeah?” he confirms, thumbing at the button thoughtfully.

Now that the toy is actually in Louis’ hand, Harry can’t stop staring, can’t form coherent thoughts aside from _want_. It’s simple and sleek- innocuous, really- and Harry wants it inside, wants to be good and come-but-not-really for Louis. “Yeah, it’s...” he trails off, moaning low when Louis curls his fingers inside him.

Clicking it on to the lowest setting, Louis drags the tip gently down the crease of Harry’s thigh, nudging it around his balls lightly. Harry pulls his lower lip between his teeth and furrows his brows, turns his face into his arm like he can’t just lie there and watch Louis. It’s not long before he’s looking back- he adores the way Louis goes so focused, the way he’s always got a different sort of curious smirk on when they try new things like this.

“Going to keep your legs still for me?” Louis reminds Harry, pulling the toy back and withdrawing his fingers to slick it up with lube. He’s looking up, waiting for Harry to return his gaze.

Harry nods immediately, messy, half-wet curls bouncing about. “Yeah, still,” he confirms.

“And tell me if you need to stop,” Louis says, giving him a firm look. “I won’t be upset or anything, promise.”

“I’ll tell you,” Harry agrees, looking directly at Louis. It’s so easy to just _agree_ on things, to talk and make it work. “Now, um, can-”

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, laughing a little, “just as impatient as you are, Haz, b’lieve me.” He edges the vibrator down, circling it around Harry’s rim- not even a complete rotation before he’s pressing it in, the slightly thicker end resisting for a moment before Harry relaxes. “Yeah,” Louis repeats, spreading his free hand on Harry’s thigh and lifting it, spreading him slightly further. “Take it for me, Haz, just like my cock, yeah? ‘s a bit better’n my prick anyhow.”

Even in the middle of a surge of warmth and electricity, Harry manages to frown slightly at Louis’ self-deprecating remark. Much like the slight ache in his arms, that’s pushed to the back of his mind as he does his best to keep still and let go at the same time, enjoy the familiar feeling of being full and of the toy’s vibrations. “Good,” he sighs, lips curled up at the corners.

Louis smiles back, twisting his wrist incrementally as he presses the vibrator in, angles it up. Harry’s already a little glassy-eyed from the wait and jumpy with anticipation, and Louis wants to see what happens when he’s come a couple times already. 

Harry gasps when Louis presses the vibrator up, the end grazing his prostate. His knees twitch and he pulls at his restraints a little, knows it’s probably better if he tries to focus the subconscious impulse to _move_ somewhere else. “Fuck, yeah,” he grunts, dropping his head back onto the pillow to give his neck a rest.

Pressing the toy in incrementally further, Louis tilts his grip on it, mentally trying to simulate the angle he’d be going for with his own fingers- he’s not really sure where to go from here; he knows how to get Harry to come from this, he’s done it before easily enough, but he also knows he’s not going to be touching Harry’s cock this time. It’s not exactly the same, and all he can do is press the vibrator up and keep it there, waiting.

It’s only then that Harry seems to really realize what this will feel like, because saying and actually _doing_ things feel completely different. He’s come almost just like this before- Louis loves teasing him, has gone with just a toy or his fingers inside Harry until Harry is begging and then rewarded him with his mouth or a slick, warm hand- but this time this is _it_ , all of it save for a few higher speeds that Louis could activate with the buttons at the end of the vibrator. The warmth in his lower belly builds, like always- faster with the vibrator than with fingers or Louis’ cock- but it seems to peak at almost-enough. It’s frustrating, but the look of wonder on Louis’ face makes all of it a little better.

“I’m gonna turn it up, yeah?” Louis rubs at Harry’s thigh, twists the vibe a little. Harry still looks impatient, this time tempered with turned-on and restless, and his arms twitch. It makes Louis shiver, and he has to look away, trying to focus instead on the slight quivering under the pale skin of Harry’s inner thighs. 

“Yeah,” Harry groans, voice gone low and raspy. He’s _so_ close, knows all he needs is a little push, a tiny bit more. “Lou, touch my-”

“You know s’not how it works,” Louis shakes his head. “C’mon, Harry, you can do it, love,” he mutters encouragingly, and finally flicks the power up. “Just stop fighting it.”

The intensified vibrations bring Harry right to the edge Louis has been aiming for, and when he pushes at Harry’s prostate with the tip, he comes. It’s nothing like Harry’s ever done before, though- it’s not as fast, for one, and he doesn’t get that split second of absolute emptiness in his brain as he’d usually begin riding out an orgasm. It _isn’t_ an orgasm; he spills but it just runs down the head of his cock and pools on his tummy, and it feels like he’s suspended at an uncertain point, the _almost_ without the accompanying _there_.

“Jesus,” Louis whispers, and clicks the vibrator up instinctively, free hand going tight on Harry’s thigh to keep his legs spread. Harry’s shaking for real, now, increasing every second he _keeps on coming_ , but Louis can’t really concentrate on anything but the way his cock is twitching against his tummy, about the _mess_ he’s making of himself. “Shit, Haz, yeah, just like that-”

Harry yanks at the belt, arms coming up reflexively before he remembers it won’t work. His laughter sounds a little hysterical when he says, “‘m not _doing_ anything, just- I can’t- I-” and Louis looks up at him, eyes wide, impressed and awed and _proud_. 

“Your fuckin’ _body_ , Haz,” he shakes his head, twists the vibrator a little more.

Gasping, Harry drops his chin on his chest, whimpers something a bit like Louis’ name. His cock spurts harder than before, thick drops of come that feel hot on his skin despite the way he’s overheated, shaking and sweating. “I can’t,” he croaks, an odd mixture of surprise and sadness and _relief_.

“Yeah, you can,” Louis whispers. “C’mon, just like this, so good, Harry, you’re just- just keep- fuck.” Harry’s stomach is quivering, chest heaving, and he looks wrecked like Louis’ only seen him before after some of their more athletic sex. Louis’ barely _done_ anything, and that’s what makes his own cock jump, the amount of power Harry’s given over to him like this.

Harry quickly realizes that as long as Louis keeps the vibrator on him, pressed right against his prostate, it’ll probably just keep going, and he’ll probably just keep coming without actually getting off. The way Louis is looking at him like he’s the most incredible thing he’s ever seen is more than enough gratification, and he couldn’t really explain _why_ when he feels his eyes prickle and a different kind of warmth crawl up his cheeks.

Louis laughs disbelievingly, thumbs over the tattoo on Harry’s hip. “Babe, are you okay?” he asks, moves as if to lean forward but thinks better of it when Harry makes a sad sound at the slight change in angle of the toy inside him. He’s back to whimpering once Louis nudges it back into place, and Louis pets his hip, rubs at his side as comfortingly as he can.

Still, Louis’ considering pulling the vibe back and saying fuck all to their plans when Harry takes a shuddering breath and opens his mouth. “M’fine,” he hiccups, exhaling with a hitched sob, shaking his head like he’s trying to get hair off his face, or maybe the tears that are running streaks down his flushed cheeks. “Don’t- fine- _please_.”

“Not going anywhere,” Louis shakes his head. Harry’s eyes are too damp, too blurry with tears to really see, but he knows the lopsided, proud smile Louis is sporting entirely too well. He sniffles and flexes his sore arms, squeezes his eyes to try and clear them and have a look down his chest at the mess he’s still made- _is still making_ \- on his stomach.

“So much of it,” Louis mutters, giddy, and moves his hand up from Harry’s hip to the come on Harry’s stomach, swipes his thumb through it and smears it up to the butterfly between Harry’s ribs. “It’s _very_ nice, Harry, so so pretty.”

“Much,” Harry echoes, feeling like he might pass out from the sheer _heat_ in the room. He can vaguely feel sweat beading at his temples and in the hollows of his throat and collarbones, can feel it over his bird tattoos, but even hotter is the slick white mess that Louis is fingerpainting across his ribs like a brand that screams _mine mine mine_. “Mine,” Harry breathes, weakly, and he’s still crying, even though he still isn’t sure why. It’s just all so _much_.

Louis nods, flattens his palm on Harry’s skin, completely ignoring the mess. “I’m yours and you’re mine, darling, yeah,” he confirms, fingertips tracing circles restlessly into the hollows between Harry’s ribs. “How, um- how’s’it feel? Or- easier question, uh, does it feel like you still have some in you or do you want me to slow down yet?”

Harry blinks. “S’much,” he tries. “Still?” He shifts his hips idly and Louis’ hand fits at his hip so nicely, so steadily, that he could sob with relief, and is pretty sure he does. Louis is still watching him, though, like he might be broken, and Harry’s not broken. Not even close. He feels like he’s being put back together. “More,” he decides, because he wants to put that pretty look of pride back on Louis’ face tonight.

“Fuck,” Louis says. “Harry-” 

Harry plants his feet on the mattress, sure this time that Louis won’t reprove him, and rolls his hips up, grinding against the vibrator. Louis’ hand trembles, and he angles the toy up carefully to adjust to Harry’s new position, clicks the speed setting up.

Harry’s cock jerks against his stomach, and what had slowed to a sluggish pulse blurts to life again, come tearing up from his slit and stuttering up his stomach, down his fat, reddened prick. 

Louis turns down the level quickly; Harry’s breathing so hard now Louis isn’t sure he’s actually getting enough oxygen, chest heaving wildly and entire upper body twitching slightly, shoulders jerking instinctively against the restraint. Louis knows Harry as well as he knows himself, and he knows Harry would do anything for him, even keep his mouth shut when something’s getting to be too much when he’s trying to make Louis proud.

Collapsing on the bed again pushes the toy into Harry, _hard_ , and Harry squeezes his eyes shut, whining. He’s slowed down to a trickle, and Louis kneads at his hipbone with the heel of his hand, mumbles nonsensical encouragement and praise as he carefully clicks the vibrations down, eases off on the pressure. 

Harry is nothing but a grateful, happy mess, keeps telling himself as soon as he finds his words the first thing he’ll do is thank Louis, tell him how much he loves him, and then perhaps thank him again. His skin feels too tight and overheated, and there’s still, impossibly, a low twist of arousal in his stomach, cinching up when he realizes that Louis hasn’t even _touched_ his own prick yet- and it’s when that familiar feeling that would usually make his cock jump only twinges mildly, and Harry looks down to see his prick laying dark against his stomach, a string of come reflecting glossy in the hairs below his belly button, but nothing more coming, that it really sinks in. “Oh, oh, _god_ ,” he whimpers, “Louis, please-”

“You’re alright, love, you’ve been so good,” Louis mutters, flicks off the toy entirely but keeps it inside Harry, just to ease him off slowly. “Tell me what you need, Haz, what do you want?”

It’s not hard to get words out, Harry feels like he hasn’t _shut up_ this entire time, but it’s difficult to concentrate long enough to make conscious sentences. “Touch- you- you too, wanna see.”

Louis huffs, pats at Harry’s chest gently. “That was really hot, I’m- this really won’t take long,” he warns, works the toy inside Harry carefully. “I’m gonna take this out, love, yeah?”

Harry nods, head feeling swimmy and heavy at once, and he bites his lips, sucks them into his mouth with a deep inhale as Louis works the toy out. He can’t help the way his body fights the feeling, clenching down, or the whine that makes Louis look up at him quickly.

“Sorry, sorry,” he slurs, but Louis shakes his head, drops the toy, and crawls up Harry’s body. Harry’s much too dazed to really _see_ Louis squirting lube onto his hand- but his shoulders jump off the bed when Louis settles properly on his thighs and gets a hand around both of their cocks, heads bumping together.

“Tell me if it’s too much, _please_ ,” Louis grunts, squeezing tight around Harry’s dick and his own, rubbing them together and sliding his palm and fingers up and down their shafts.

Harry’s head jerks forward and flops back and his neck hurts but all he can process is the simultaneous absolute relief and discomfort of Louis’ hand on his cock. It feels like he’s been waiting forever for this, and at the same time like it’s far too soon, and the two sensations seesaw in his brain until he can’t tell which end is which, which is more or less overwhelming. 

“I can’t- I _can’t_ ,” he says, desperately trying to get Louis to understand, even though he doesn’t want him to stop, necessarily. He just needs to let Louis know that- he doesn’t want Louis to be disappointed in him, if he’s expecting more, and Harry really doesn’t think he can deliver. He’s already made a wreck of their sheets and his own stomach and chest, still wet even when the first layer’s gone tacky on his skin, and he feels _empty_. When his brain makes the connection to that word, it gets a little better, because Louis can _fix_ that. Harry’s had to ask before, and Louis always makes it easier. He’ll just have to catch his breath first before he can get the words out.

“You’re _incredible_ , Haz,” Louis says, tips his head back but keeps his eyes on Harry, like it’d physically _hurt_ if he weren’t watching him. Harry’s cock is hot against his own, swollen red and sticky, the head of it stained with come, and he knows he won’t be long with Harry so utterly his to take, even when he barely has anything left to give. “Hazza, think you can come for me again, lovey? What d’you need?”

Harry worries for a moment that he’s swallowed his tongue, because it’s one thing to sort of gather from Louis’ actions what he wants, and something else entirely to hear him say it. To have it _asked_ of him. “Yes,” he says, before he can even think about it, instinctual. Then, quickly, “I- I don’t _know_ , m’sorry, sorry, s’much, Lou, please-” he swallows, hard, and looks up at Louis. Louis smiles, encouragingly, kindly, and Harry inhales shakily. “Fingers? Please? ‘ll try.”

Louis readjusts immediately, one hand slowing down on their pricks and the other squeezing in between their thighs. It’s a little uncomfortable, feels like it might make his wrist sore later, and the angle probably doesn’t _do_ much for Harry, but he manages to nudge two fingertips inside Harry, give him something to clench around as Louis touches his cock.

Harry bears down on Louis’ fingers and leans up, stomach and arms tensing, to smear a sloppy kiss along Louis’ stubbled chin, as far as he can reach. “Please,” he says, voice just a fucked-out rumble, “Lou, please.”

“Fuck, fuck,” Louis chokes, slides his hand faster and makes sure to keep his grip around Harry, too, squeezing beneath the head of his cock- and a little lower, comparatively, on Harry’s shaft.

Harry feels his balls draw up, tighter than before, aching, and Louis’ lower lip trembles, light reflecting on its spit-damp shine. Harry closes his eyes and rolls his hips, the most he can give Louis right now with his arms above his head, mouth out of reach. 

“Ah, shit,” Louis says, loud, and crumples, hand going rough and off-rhythm, still working their pricks as he comes between them, over both of them. It’s hot and wet and Harry feels it sputter over his own cock and it’s like fireworks behind his eyes, so _much_ \- “Louis,” he chokes, and his stomach twists up and he’s. He’s pretty sure- his cock jerks weakly in Louis’ grip, and nothing happens, he doesn’t add to the mess Louis’ made, that _he’d_ made, just earlier, but for the first time tonight it feels like he’s gotten to come.

Faintly, Harry thinks he can hear his name- his ears are ringing, and once he registers Louis’ face nuzzled up into his sweaty neck he realizes that Louis _is_ mumbling _Harry, Harry_ , over and over. His whole body is sore, from his arms to his thighs to- pretty much every bit between his legs, really, and he isn’t really sure how he’s somehow still conscious. It doesn’t really work the first time he tries to talk, but once he clears his throat a little, swallows through an odd, raw feeling, he manages, “You’ll wear it out.”

“Already wore _you_ out,” Louis mutters and nips at Harry’s skin. His shoulders are still heaving and Harry wants to laugh, or maybe cry again, a little. “Won’t be any of you left at all.”

Shaking his head, Harry flexes his fingers, pivots his raw wrists a little. If his legs didn’t feel like jelly he’d try tangling them up with Louis’, but for now he guesses tipping his head onto Louis’ as best as he can will do.

“You came so much, Hazza,” Louis whispers, smiling giddily like it’s a brilliant secret. “Just kept going and got yourself so, so dirty. Maybe next time I’ll measure it, yeah? See exactly how much you can come for me.”

“ _Lou_ ,” Harry groans, dropping his head on the pillow and sniffling. “I came so much, when I actually _came_ , I didn’t-” he says, slowly, like he needs to digest every syllable to believe it. He came _dry_.

Louis beams. “That you did.”

“Ughh,” Harry groans. “S’disgusting.” He’s referring to the sheets, really, because even though objectively the mess on his stomach should maybe be _worse_ , he doesn’t mind that so much. It’s just that the hotel sheets are now gunked to his back with his own bodily fluids. 

“Good thing we have a clean one of these,” Louis mutters, tipping his head at the still-made bed not two feet away. Getting double rooms has its perks. He tips his chin up to kiss at the tattoos on Harry’s bicep, hums as his lips touch the damp, overheated skin, pressing into tired muscles. “Want me to let you go, love? Y’arms must hurt.”

Harry hums and nods tiredly, letting his eyelids slip shut as Louis moves up the bed, fingers running up his forearms and stroking gently at the reddened skin where the belt has dug into his skin. It’s not bad, and the marks will probably be only temporary. Harry still sighs in relief as Louis efficiently undoes his knot and lets Harry’s arms fall limply to the mattress, unrestrained. Harry feels like they slither back to him without his conscious permission, and he rubs at the flushed skin of his wrists, happy with the slight indents around his tendons. 

Louis lifts himself off of Harry and cuddles up close to his side. “There we go, love. You look tired, want me to just grab a flannel?”

Nodding, Harry flops his arm over to pat at Louis’ ribs, the first thing within reach, thankfully. He’s officially reached the point where it takes too much energy to speak, and with his arms free he feels extra heavy, weighted down like he hadn’t realized before. He hopes he can stay awake for Louis to fetch a flannel.

“I’ll be right back,” Louis promises, kisses Harry on the lips before rolling off the bed. He hops out of his sweats as he walks to the bathroom and tries to weigh the chances of Harry actually having enough energy to stand up and take a couple of tiny, shuffling steps to the other bed. In the end, it turns out to be inconsequential: when he gets back with a warm flannel and a smile, Harry’s snuffling into the pillow, eyes closed and mouth half-open.

“‘course you did,” he sighs to himself and cleans Harry up anyway- it’s hard to really get all of the come off, and Harry twitches in displeasure when Louis wipes at his cock as gently as he can, but he manages to get the worst of the drying tackiness off before returning to the bathroom for a towel.

Although he couldn’t possibly carry Haz to the clean bed, he can pull at his arm and shoulders until he’s off the wet patch, spread the towel out over the soaked sheets, and push Harry over again.

Harry makes a cute little huffing sound, much like a sleeping piglet, Louis thinks, and then shakes his head. Animal metaphors are a sign that he’s either way too tired to be thinking or turning into Niall. 

“G’night, Harry,” he whispers, settling in at Harry’s side. They’re lying diagonally on the bed, which means Louis has to curl up with his knees pressed to Harry’s hip to fit on the mattress, and Louis is still having a bit of a hard time processing- what he and Harry did tonight and Harry’s existence in general, though there’s nothing new there. But Harry’s always been a contagious sleeper, so instead of thinking, Louis closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the [vibrator](http://www.edenfantasys.com/sex-toys-for-men/prostate-massagers/billy) we used as ~inspiration.


End file.
